There are words to make a poet weep
And through my mind they gently creep
Before them lies fields of plenty
Yet after they pass all is empty
These words creeping must remain
Silent, unseen, 'tis part of their game
A source of joy they find this play
And in my mind they're wont to stay
When the mind turns to reflect inside
There is no place left the hide
For try as ever hard as you can
Regardless of every wile and plan
The mind knows itself to terrible degree
So these words laugh and cavort with glee
No passageways are hidden to them
No thickened walls their path can stem
A constant battle then, is found
Whenever these words are around
For linger they will with glee and hate
Not barred by any portal or gate
Sneaking in again and again
Until beyond all else they ascend
What then do these words utter in terrible moan?
I. Am. Alone.
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